


Edge Of The World

by skullage



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullage/pseuds/skullage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns into something like a game, until it doesn't. Harry's damn near bursting out of his skin every time Zayn so much as touches him, and the permanent dirty smirk on his face tells Harry that's what he's counting on. Zayn tells him where to sit in interviews, dares him to order the weirdest thing on the menu, volunteers him as the one to call room service and answer the door when it comes but picks his food for him, and all through it Harry never says no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge Of The World

**Author's Note:**

> for lizz, who wanted submissive!harry.

“Stay - right - there.”

Harry hasn’t moved in about ten minutes, hadn’t planned to, doesn’t even glance over at Louis’s order. He lies still, the asphalt warming his back and the sun beating down on his front, and can’t help the smile that creeps across his face. With his eyes closed his ears perk up at the sound of Louis’s skateboard clattering against the ground, the wheels rolling to meet him, Louis’s shout of “stay _still_ , Harold” a split second before the board kicks up. The wind rushes over him and Louis lands a foot away, whooping and cheering at his success.

Harry opens his eyes and turns his head to see Louis skating back toward him, hands in the air, triumph on his face. A rush of heat surges in Harry’s stomach at the sight, the fact that he made Louis smile like that.

Louis swings his board around, circles him once more and calls, “Wanna go again?”

Harry fights the ridiculous grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth and lays back down.

~

When Louis catches him leaning against the wall he just goes for it. Harry forgot about the cameras trained on them while he checked his emails, but that’s easy to do after having them on him for the better part of two years, and only in retrospect is it a little worrying, that if anything went wrong they’d have it on tape. At worst though, Louis would upload the evidence as a stunts-gone-wrong montage on YouTube, and at best use it to improve his technique.

There isn’t any time to think, or even notice what Louis’s about to do; no time for Harry to duck or get out of the way as Louis bounds up to him and uses the momentum to launch himself over Harry’s head, an impromptu rendition of the leapfrog they played on stage the other night.

Harry curls in on himself as he feels Louis’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him down. He’s a little proud of himself that he doesn’t flinch much.

“Right there, Curly?” Louis asks when he lands and turns, casual as anything, flicking his hair out of his eyes. Bless him, he doesn’t even look puffed.

Harry throws him a grin that has nothing and everything to do with the flips his stomach is doing, the sweat on his palms, the itch along his spine. He opens his mouth to respond when he’s interrupted by Zayn.

“Bet you can’t do it again.” Zayn’s watching them from several feet away with a mischievous glint in his eye that would make Louis proud. The cameras disappear quickly with their money shot, and the three of them are left alone.

Louis doesn’t rise to the bait. “Now, Zayn, what kind of gentleman would I be?”

“Yeah,” Zayn laughs, “that’s what I thought.” He walks over with intent, right up into Harry’s space. A smirk turns his expression predatory, and wow, Zayn has a nice mouth. “Bet Harry would let you, though. He wouldn’t say no, would you Haz?”

Something in the dynamic changes from conversational to loaded, and Louis must notice it, too, because he stops fidgeting with his hair to lock eyes on Zayn. They both turn to Harry at the same time with twin goading expressions sharpening their features, turning them predatory. He sucks in a breath through his nose, his breathing somewhat more laboured as he becomes aware of how close they all are.

“Is that right,” Louis says, not quite a question.

Zayn lowers his voice, stares straight at Harry when he continues, “Bet he’d let you do anything,” and it sends a thrill of heat through Harry’s stomach.

It’s not like Harry has never noticed how different his dynamic with Louis and Zayn is compared to the rest of the group, but even for them this is obvious. Harry knows them better than anyone, their reactions and their temperament, knows how they are by themselves as well as he knows himself. Whenever Zayn’s feeling lonely he usually cuddles up to Niall, and whenever he’s feeling reckless he’ll tempt Louis into some ridiculous stunt, but this. Harry’s never seen this dominant side of Zayn so obvious before, and directed solely at him.

Harry crosses his ankles, leans back against the wall, and, ignoring the blush over his cheeks, answers, “You don’t even have to be a gentleman.”

~

That night, Harry crawls into bed with Niall, because it’s easier than analysing the situation and how it left him hard for hours before he got the courage to sort himself out. He’s pretty sure that no one would judge him over imagining just what kind of things Zayn would want Harry to let him do, much less Louis and Zayn. Especially since they’re the reason Harry got so hard-up in the first place. And even more especially since Harry can guess where that conversation would have gone had they not been interrupted by Paul hauling them back to the dressing rooms.

In his mind Harry can picture the mess of the entire situation, how badly it could fuck them all up. His sense of obligation and morals war with the feeling he received just from Zayn looking at him with heat in his eyes, how proud and full of affection Louis looks whenever Harry does something for him, even if it’s just to hold still and indulge in his reckless behaviour. After an hour or so of replaying it in his head, Harry gives up, pulls Niall’s arm around himself and eventually falls asleep.

~

The next night, Zayn crawls into Harry’s bed, because the universe is cruel and fickle. Harry lies awake thinking of anything but the press of Zayn’s jaw against his neck, and the scratch of stubble on his skin, the hint of something dangerous.

In the morning Zayn is gone. There isn’t a mark on to prove he was there, but Harry still feels it.

~

They stumble back into the dressing room after the encore, giddy with adrenaline. Harry’s entire body is flushed, and he can feel the high pumping through him that only comes after a good performance or a great shag, and he doesn’t even need to check the others to know they’re feeling it, too. It’s in the energy of the room, something almost symbiotic that feeds from them as they feed from it, rising like a tide from the crowd as the cheers echo through the concert venue.

Louis’s hands tug at his waist as he moves and it feels so good. They strip out of their stage clothes quickly, chatting while they do.

“Did you see that sign in the fourth row?” Liam asks, his eyes wide and a little bit shocked. He’s holding a pile of what could loosely be considered gifts, but is more a random assortment of clothing they fans threw up on stage.

“The one about sucking Louis’s carrot, you mean?” Zayn answers, and Niall belts out a laugh.

Louis shakes his head at Harry, and Harry giggles back. “You think they’d be over it by now,” he says, and with his voice pitched low, a little husky from exertion, it sounds like something private, something just for Harry to hear.

“I saw you eyeing her up, Lou, you don’t have to pretend,” Harry mocks.

“No, my dear Styles, I was deducing whether she was suitable for you. The girls you’ve been running around with lately make me question your distinguished taste.” Louis whips a monocle and bowler hat from thin air, puts on his best Sherlock Holmes accent. Harry grabs for him, but Louis just laughs and bounds away.

Harry chases after him, his clothes half undone, and manages to get Louis in a headlock before Louis slips away again, laughing and puffing theatrically on the pipe.

“Babes,” Zayn calls over their laughter, “you can’t call anyone out on their standards.”

Louis stops where he’s crouching behind Liam to pull an offended face. “I’ll have you know my standards are top notch.”

“Top notch!” Harry and Niall repeat.

Zayn’s staring in disbelief, but he’s grinning at the same time. “Uh-huh, what was that girl’s name I saw with her tongue down your throat last weekend? Mildred?”

“Millicent,” Niall supplies, but he’s laughing more than helping, his face buried in Zayn’s shoulder to hide it.

“And a distinguished fine fellow she was,” Louis replies.

“She had a snaggle-tooth,” Niall mocks.

“And double-Ds,” Harry replies. For that he gets a bra thrown at his head from Niall’s direction. He holds it up. “What do you know. My size?”

Louis is back in his space again, pipe forgotten but the hat still jammed on his head, grabbing at the bra and holding it across Harry’s chest. “Sorry mate, it’s a little too big. Might have to go back to the training bras.”

“Put in on anyway, Harry,” Zayn calls.

Liam lets out a sigh. “We’re going soon, you should get dressed.”

“Go on,” Zayn says, ignoring Liam, and when Harry looks over, his hooded eyes hold a challenge.

“My goodness, Zayn,” Louis starts, “you didn’t tell us you were that kinky. And I thought we were your friends!”

Zayn holds Harry’s gaze and Harry can feel the heat of it all the way through his body. He’s glad for Louis at a moment like this, to not only lighten the tension but also to point it out. It should be weird, right? Harry's sure this is reaching new territory. He turns to Louis with a shrug, unable to say no. “Clip me up?”

Louis doesn't hesitate though, he just turns Harry around and slips the straps over his arms. Liam is fully dressed now, watching them with a mixture of awe and horror on his face. Niall seems to be a little bit more laid back about it, grinning like it’s strangely endearing. It’s not even the weirdest thing he’s watched Harry and Louis do. It might be the strangest request Zayn’s given, but no one seems to be focusing on that like Harry is.

Louis at least isn’t keeping his cool as well as he puts on, because it takes him a few tries to clip it together and the clasp catches on Harry's skin just this side of painful, but when he does he stands back to appreciate his work.

“Well, I stand corrected. Very fitting, Haz.” He pats Harry once on the bum, turns to Zayn with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”

Zayn is just staring now with an expression that belies slight surprise and, Harry suspects, arousal. “Give us a twirl, Harry.”

Harry complies, holding his arms out as he spins once. Niall lets out a whistle but Liam breaks the tension by dumping the rest of the clothes on Louis’s head. It takes them longer than usual to get dressed, and by the time one of the staff knocks on their door Louis and Niall are wrestling on the floor while Liam tries to pull the bra off where it’s caught in Harry’s hair, and Zayn watches silently on.

~

Three minutes before an interview Louis pulls Niall and Harry aside to let them in on the word. Niall stares at Louis like he's mental but only protests enough for _how the fuck am I supposed to work that into a sentence?_ The way Louis looks at Harry as he says it makes pride swell in his chest at being trusted. He's never defied one of Louis's requests before, always received a bit of a thrill and a cheeky grin from Louis whenever he's slipped an "erected" or "defenestrate" into a casual answer, so when Louis sighs and turns to Harry with a "You got it?" Harry nods. If he seems a little too eager to please neither Niall or Louis comment on it.

Harry feels a hand on his hip and Zayn's voice in his ear saying, "We're good to go," and Harry finds himself being led to the couches, squished between Zayn and Liam with both of their arms around his shoulders.

The interview is different to most of theirs, filled with more questions about their music than what cologne they're wearing, and it means Harry can plan his answer perfectly. When the interviewer pops an easy question he doesn't hesitate. "Uh, I'd have to say Elvis's _Are You Lonesome Tonight_ is one of the most influential ballads, like. The lyrics are timeless and hold so much _pathos_ , you can really feel everything he pours into the song."

The interviewer looks impressed and Louis takes that as his cue to chime in.

"Our Harry's an old soul. He's swallowed about four dictionaries in his short lifetime."

Zayn's fingers play through the hair at the nape of Harry's neck and his voice is low when he breathes, "Wonder what else you can swallow." The next few questions are drowned by the sound of blood pounding in Harry's ears.

~

Zayn has this thing with control. It doesn't take much for him to loosen up, but his default setting is composed, and sometimes, a lot of the time, Harry just wants to mess him up. Run his nails through Zayn's perfect coiff and ruffle his feathers. It's usually how Zayn ends up with his tie undone and his shirt untucked halfway through a show, because Harry just can't keep his hands to himself when Zayn looks so fucking claimable.

Tonight, though, Harry's the one being claimed. Zayn sticks close throughout the performance, shoves his hands under Harry's blazer whenever he gets near enough and whispers in his ear during the other's solos, like the crowd might not be watching their every move. It's all Harry can do to keep his voice level and eyes on the crowd with Zayn breathing down his neck and the itch along his skin threatening to open him up, split his veins, spill him out to the world. He allows himself to think of it only as a distraction for Zayn from Niall cuddling up to Josh and Louis's arms around Liam's waist when Liam does a headstand across the stage, but that's bullshit. Zayn doesn't need a reason to fuck with Harry.

Harry goes to the edge of the stage to shake the fans' hands while he crouches over and sings along to the chorus, and for a moment concentrates on anything but Zayn. The moment lasts long enough for Harry to lose his footing and slip trying to stand up straight, and then Zayn's hands are a blessing, grabbing him around the waist to stop him from falling on his arse. It's a little embarrassing, especially considering how much he works out, that his balance and hand-to-eye coordination are so shite. But, Harry supposes, no one's perfect, and that's what the others are there for. Zayn, with all his self-control, is there to catch Harry when he falls. And Harry, well. That just makes him more lucky than composed.

~

It turns into something like a game, until it doesn't. Harry's damn near bursting out of his skin every time Zayn so much as touches him, and the permanent dirty smirk on his face tells Harry that's what he's counting on. Zayn tells him where to sit in interviews, dares him to order the weirdest thing on the menu, volunteers him as the one to call room service and answer the door when it comes but picks his food for him, and all through it Harry never says no.

"You should wear the grey henley," Zayn prompts one night before they head out, and Harry has to wonder if Louis's told him it's a personal favourite thing of Harry's, if Louis's been bragging about how Harry will let him pick out Harry's outfits, because Harry likes it so much. Likes it even more when Louis tells him to wear his clothes and he walks around the rest of the day smelling Louis all over him. When he pulls on the sweater he gets a look from Zayn so heated Harry can feel his blood start to boil. Even though it's baggy Harry's pretty sure Zayn could feel his arousal from space. They're too in tune to each other for him not to.

Zayn looks him up and down for half a minute and Harry starts to squirm under the scrutiny. Usually he gets a pat on the side and a compliment while Louis pulls on his own clothes, but this feels like Harry is on display, a whetstone on which Zayn can sharpen his claws.

"I changed my mind," Zayn says just as Harry starts to shift. "Put on the other one instead, that cream one."

Harry turns to find the sweater in question lying in a heap at the end of the bed. Louis's sweater. Harry wastes no time stripping off again and pulls it over his head, startling slightly when he pulls his head through and Zayn's standing half a foot away, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

Harry waits for him to come closer, move, say something, anything, but Zayn just stares.

"Is this ok?" Harry asks, and Zayn lets out a low chuckle.

"You'll just do anything, god. Won't you?"

Harry bites his lip. Zayn sucks in a breath and takes a step closer, a hand on Harry's hip where the sweater is bunched up and Harry reaches out instinctively to wrap a hand around Zayn's wrist, heart thudding in his chest hard enough to crack his fragile ribcage.

Zayn looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and his face close enough to kiss and Harry counts the seconds it takes for the tension to reach its zenith. "Looking good, Harry," Zayn breathes. Harry's eyes drift shut for a second but when he opens them Zayn's already walking out the door. He doesn't look back to make sure Harry follows him, but that's exactly what Harry does.

Zayn leads him down the motel hallway, humming under his breath as he goes. They reach the stairs and Harry hesitates, but only long enough for Zayn to disappear as the door swings closed behind him. Harry catches it before it does, darts around into the stairwell and is glad for the sweater to stop him from immediately freezing.

Zayn is standing in the corner, leaning against the railing, muscles strained under his t-shirt where his arms are crossed. "Come here, Haz," he calls, and Harry damn near trips over his own feet getting there. He gets his hands on Zayn's waist, crowds in close enough to smell his aftershave and the lingering traces of sweat and tobacco that cling to him. Instead of meeting him halfway Zayn recoils, puzzled, and for one devastating moment Harry thinks he's misjudged the entire situation.

"What are you doing, Haz?"

For the life of him, he can't come up with an answer. _Pleasing you_ sounds too much like an awful porno cliche, and _touching you_ probably wouldn't fare much better. "Um," he replies instead.

Zayn's eyes sparkle with something cold and dangerous, and his whole body is taut under Harry's hands like he's about to snap, unhinge his jaw and swallow Harry whole.

"That's not what this is about," Zayn continues. "This isn't about you," and Harry gets it now. This is about Zayn, about Zayn's control. His voice is barely a whisper as he rasps, "Get on your knees," but Harry hears him perfectly, and he doesn't hesitate.

~

The next few days are a blur of sneaking make-outs in the tour bus, blowjobs in whatever empty hotel room is closest, Zayn's fingers inside him, getting each other off rough and quick and unashamed in the time it takes for the euphoria to subside. Most times it's Harry on his knees while Zayn slips his cock past his lips to the back of his throat, letting Harry choke on it, suffocating on the need to come, to make Zayn come. Zayn is silent each time, and it drives Harry mental, giving every part of himself just to hear whatever stuttered exclamation Zayn lets out when he loses it at the end. Harry needs more.

Zayn fists a hand in Harry's hair and pushes him down onto the bed, a hand around his waist to slip into his jeans, breath hot on the back of Harry's neck as he says, "Been thinking about this all day," and, "jerked off thinking about you before, couldn't help it," and, "you been good for me?" Harry is hard just listening to him, keeps his groans silent. Zayn gets the answer he's looking for when he slips a hand beneath the waistband of Harry's shorts, fingers sliding through the slick mess of lube there. When he gets his fingers in, Harry lets out a whine that sounds more like a squawk, pushes his arse out to give Zayn better access and gets a guttural _yeah_ in return.

Zayn pushes his jeans down until they bunch around his knees, pumps his fingers in a couple more times. "Fuck," Zayn breathes, surprise in his tone, "you actually did it, didn't you?" and Harry can't answer, can't tell Zayn about his rush job while Niall pounded on the bathroom door, how bad he wanted to come and _couldn't_ because Zayn wasn't there to tell him he was allowed to.

It was nothing compared to Zayn's fingers, how Zayn pushes in now, lines up and thrusts hard enough that Harry's face is shoved into the mattress. Zayn goes quiet almost immediately, and it's a physical loss. He gets a hand around Zayn's hip to drag him closer, driving back in time to Zayn's thrusts, and he's too far gone to tell Harry to slow down, speed up, tell Harry _anything_. He's lost in it, thrusting harder, shoving Harry into the mattress, and Harry should've known, should be able to voice what he needs when Zayn won't ask.

After that it's a maddening race to get Zayn off as quick as possible, just to hear him say anything. Harry grabs Zayn's hands, puts them on his own hips, clenches until he feels Zayn's nails dig in and mark him. Feels Zayn rest against him as his rhythm starts to falter. A bite to the meat of his shoulder as Zayn fills him up. A quiet, "fuck," but it's not nearly enough.

~

He's still shaking with the aftermath when Liam finds him in his room an hour later. His head swims with the scent of Zayn all over his skin, the feel of Zayn's come dripping down his thighs even after he wiped himself down, the blood rushing through his ears to the sound of Zayn's orgasm-rough voice as he told Harry to take care of himself and walked away. Harry jumps when the door opens and Liam pokes his head around it. The sight pulls him back to solid ground.

"Oh, sorry. Just came to return--" Liam holds up Louis's iPod. His face creases with concern as he takes in Harry's appearance -- dishevelled, shirtless, shaking slightly despite the heater warming the room. "You alright? Thought you were going out with the boys?"

Harry gives him a small smile as an answer. "Nah, not tonight. Bit tired." He clears his throat, reaches for a clean t-shirt. "Might just sleep."

Liam comes over and wraps an arm around his back. "Want some company? Don't really feel like hanging out by myself."

Harry nods gratefully, pushing his face into Liam's shoulder in return. Harry drops the shirt and they climb into bed, snuggling up close under the covers. He must stink of sex, but Liam doesn't mention it, and Harry doesn't know whether that's because Liam's too polite to or if it's so normal that Liam doesn't even notice anymore. His stomach is heavy with guilt and shame at the thought of how it would affect him if he knew. Whether Zayn would mention it or if it would be another part of the game, and the thought makes Harry a little sick.

Liam strokes his hair until he falls asleep.

~

When Harry wakes up Liam's warm weight at his back is so reassuring he could cry. He settles for turning around to press his face into Liam's chest, and that's when he notices. Liam's t-shirt smells like Harry, and that chest is definitely not Liam's.

"Morning sunshine," Zayn mumbles. His eyes are trained on Harry's face, and his expression is warm and affectionate, if a little guarded.

"Hey," Harry replies. There's drool at the corner of his mouth, and as he wipes it away he's reminded of several days ago, of Zayn's cock sliding through his lips, come sliding down his chin, the feeling of fullness that was nowhere near enough.

"So, about last night," Zayn begins, and Harry groans, "We don't have to."

Zayn places a hand over his mouth, and the effect is instantaneous. His embarrassment disappears and Harry goes quiet. Pavlov was really onto something with that whole, conditioning thing.

"I just, I'm sorry for how I was last night." For what it's worth, Zayn doesn't even look embarrassed. Or regretful, which gives Harry hope. He does seem sorry though, although it takes a minute to compute in Harry's brain, because Zayn has never looked sorry about anything in his entire life. "I didn't mean to get so -- rough, like. I just like, I dunno, got a bit overwhelmed and lost it, y'know, I. And if I hurt you, god I'm so sorry, really Harry, I'm sorry I took it that far."

He recoils when Harry nips at his hand. "Ow! What are you doing?"

Harry barks out a laugh. "You are such a tit."

"And you're a fucking tease," Zayn replies. He's looking less sorry the more Harry grins at him.

"You know I'm an adult, right?"

"I'm serious."

"Zayn."

"What?"

Harry pushes up on his elbows until they're face to face, murmurs, "I would've said no," clarifies, "If I didn't want it, I mean. If I didn't like it." He licks his lips and feels Zayn's hand clench around his hip like he can't control it. "But I liked it." Zayn glances between his lips and his eyes, his own half-closed.

"Okay," Zayn slurs.

"But you gotta level with me, man."

Zayn squints. "Like, what?"

"You gotta." Harry searches for the words. "Was it good for you?"

Laughing, Zayn answers, "Are you kidding me?"

"Tell me."

"Uh." Zayn's eyes are fully open now. He huffs out a breath and rolls onto his back. Instinctively Harry curls around him. "Fuck. Harry, it was so good. The best, really. I've never been with a chick who makes noises like that."

Harry laughs, prompts, "And?"

"And I'm sorry I just left you there, okay? I'm a total shit."

"No, I mean. Was I good?"

Something must click because the look Zayn gives him is nothing shot of electric, and he changes tack. "Harry, you were so good, just doing what you're told. How you’d prepped yourself for me, waited the entire day, fuck. Never come so hard in my life."

Heat settles in Harry's stomach just at the words. An itch spreads along his back, his shoulder blades, his lips. He shifts until his erection slides against Zayn's leg, and the remaining misunderstanding between them dissipates.

"Oh, is that what you wanted?" Zayn laughs, a hand coming up to stroke through Harry's hair, the other on Harry's hip to pull him even closer. "You want me to tell you."

This time Harry hides his grin in Zayn's chest.

"Is that why you were upset last night?"

"Liam told you."

"'Course he did, he's Liam. He was just worried about you. I thought I hurt you, babes."

Harry shakes his head. The movement shifts his whole body and he groans from the way his dick brushes harder against Zayn's leg. "No," he murmurs. "Didn't."

"I suppose we should celebrate that, then." The words are packed with meaning, and when it hits they both get serious. Zayn moves his hand down until he cups Harry through his sweats.

"Anything," Harry breathes, "anything you want."

"I want you to touch yourself," Zayn replies.

Harry doesn't waste time. When he reaches into his boxers he's already fully hard and leaking. Zayn watches him bring himself off in minutes with quick, jerky movements, muttering all the while about how good Harry is, how good he looks. Harry's climax when he shudders into Zayn's shoulder is like a punch to the gut; he's falling all the way through it, Zayn’s hands around him again.

~

Things don't go back to normal, but it's close enough. Orgasms tend to change a dynamic, but at least it's nothing dramatic. Or, nothing too dramatic for One Direction.

Zayn orders him around still, but with a tone loaded with enough affection that Harry can feel it. He gets physical affection when Zayn's feeling lazy, and praise when he's feeling generous, and almost always in front of the others. That's part of the game, too. That the others are only clued in enough to notice something is happening, but not enough to know what it is.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Zayn says as Harry hands him a Coke from the vending machine. He bought it with his own quarters and everything, had to break a twenty because he doesn't carry cash and that's the least the ATM in the lobby drops. Zayn turns to Louis sitting beside him, continues, "Isn't he amazing?" He's laying it on thick, but, beneath the blush creeping up his neck, Harry finds he doesn't mind all that much. It's just like Zayn to do that, make a spectacle out of Harry's secrets, because Zayn is too competitive for their good. And this -- whatever the two of them have -- it's not something Zayn would bother keeping to themselves, in the dark under the bed sheets, because he isn't ashamed the way normal people are. At least not where the rest of the group is concerned.

"Not that amazing, he didn't get me one," Louis replies. He's staring at them with an unamused, sour look on his face like he knows there's a secret and wants in. Under normal circumstances it would be Louis and Harry's secret, but for once Harry can revel in just how fucking cute Louis is when he's clueless. He forces a scowl and hands his own Coke over. Louis's expression brightens and he shouts, "Amazing!"

"Harry's always amazing," Liam counters from his position on the floor, head tilted back against the bed to look up at him.

"Thanks Li, you big softy," Harry replies. Liam grins like a dope and pulls at Harry's legs until Harry collapses against him, laughing as he falls and rolls over Liam's lap. He pretends not to notice the twin stares directed his way, but feels them all the same.

~

The game is on when Harry walks into the motel room, and Louis jumps out from behind the couch. His arms are outstretched, his hands clasped in front of him in imitation of a gun, shouting, "Freeze, punk!"

Harry's hands shoot up in the air. He backs off slowly the way he came in. "I'm innocent! You can't do this!"

Louis widens his stance and throws his head back in a laugh. "Ha! That's what you said before you shot Dead Lefty and Grimes, wasn't it?"

"You got the wrong guy, Officer, I swear!" He edges closer to the bed.

"A likely story," Louis mocks, taking a step forward as Harry takes one back. "You're the infamous criminal Sweetlips Jackknife Jerry McGee, and I'm the guy that's gonna put you away."

Harry inhales an exaggerated gasp, calling out, "How did you know my real name?"

"Friends in low places, kid. Keep your hands up!"

"Unless," Harry begins, stops moving back even as his hands shoot up straight again, "you're not who you say you are. Unless, you're not even a cop--!" Harry lunges forward, grabbing at the gun in Louis's hands. Louis twists away, shouting as he does, but Harry holds on and they wrestle. Gunshots fire throughout the room, the bullets ricocheting off the walls as they both recoil away from the line of fire. Harry wrests the gun from Louis's hands and it goes flying, skidding across the carpet, leaving them breathless and unarmed.

Louis dives first, with an exaggerated yell, and Harry follows after, landing on top of him. The momentum carries him into a roll and Louis takes advantage of it, straddles Harry's waist and pins his arms to the floor.

"You're right! I'm not a cop, I'm the dirty rat who sold you out to the pigs. Now squeal for me, punk!" Louis digs his thumbs into Harry's ribs while Harry gasps for breath under the assault.

"Ok, ok, I'm squealing," Harry eventually relents. Louis stops, but his grip around Harry's chest is still tight, and his legs are locked around Harry's to prevent him from toppling over. Those lessons in self-defense Paul has been putting them through would really come in handy if he remembered any of it. The only thing he can recall is to buck his hips, but having Louis's arse pressed against his crotch for the past few minutes has vetoed that plan, unless he wants Louis to know firsthand just how Zayn's conditioning has been working out for him. Louis isn't Zayn, but Harry's dick doesn't seem to have grasped that a hard-on between friends is a lot more awkward than with someone who's open to actively doing something about it.

It isn't until he feels reciprocal hardness pressing against his stomach that his internal panic attack subsides, and a new one takes its place because, holy shit, _he made Louis hard_. And, apart from the flush to his cheeks and ears, Louis doesn't even seem that bothered about it. His grin has gone lopsided, palms clammy where they're now wrapped around Harry's wrists, but his breathing is even, Harry can feel it against his cheek.

Harry thinks he should be used to casual awkward silences and casual awkward boners between his friends, but, as with a lot of things over the past couple weeks, his surprise wins out.

"Lou, I fold." His voice is gunshot-loud in the silence.

Louis licks his lips, mutters, "Yeah?" and Harry responds "yeah" before he can process the meaning behind it, and again, surprise as Louis grinds down onto him, grinning filthily at the shock Harry exudes.

Louis tightens his grip on Harry's wrists and his eyes flutter closed as he leans further over until their stomachs are pressed together. It takes a moment for Harry to respond; he's never wanted anyone like this before, this wholly, this overwhelmingly. It stuns him motionless until he can't take it anymore and grinds his hips up into the swell of Louis's arse. He chases Louis's lips just for the taste, just to know what it's like to be completely overcome.

Louis kisses back softly, slowing his thrusts so he can get his technique up. It's maddening and selfish, for Harry to have everything he wants and still need more, but he can't help it. He tries to push up again, but Louis stills him by gripping his wrists harder.

And that's when the door opens. Niall and Zayn burst in on them like that, trailing noise and distraction. Louis freezes on top of him and Harry takes advantage of it to whip his head around, has to crane his neck to see who it is. The following silence is nothing short of loaded.

"Oh," Zayn says. Harry can hear the click of the silencer in his voice, loaded with jealousy, but not surprise.

"Jesus," Niall exclaims, eyes bulging from the bottom of his upside-down face. "This is new." He casts a glance at Zayn, who gives nothing away. "Did you know about this?"

Zayn doesn't answer. The look he throws between them is the kind of wild-eyed, primal stare that does things to Harry.

Niall breaks the silence. "Fuck you guys, I'm always the last one to know," he shouts, apropos of nothing. His anger is abrupt and unexpected, but it feels right in that moment. Someone should be out rightly angry, since Zayn isn't, since Louis is overwhelmed with embarrassment and Harry is too horny to care. No one is playing their roles tonight. "How long has this--" he motions between them before he drops the rest of the sentence, throws his hands up and continues, "Don't wanna know, fuck it. Leave me out of it."

Niall exits stage left as quickly as he came in, and Harry expects him to call after Zayn as an afterthought. Zayn must expect it, too, because he tenses as Niall leaves, careful not to sway into his space, quick to close the door behind him.

"Um," Louis starts. His face is flushed, cheeks reddened from exertion or embarrassment, Harry can't tell. It's a good look on him, though. The urge to lick his neck rises and disappears with the silence. "So, yeah. Harry and I were just." He and Zayn trade meaningful looks for several seconds before Louis's body relaxes, and he shrugs. "Making out."

Zayn presses his lips together, nods thoughtfully. "Don't let me interrupt."

Louis shrugs again and looks back down at Harry. Maybe he can read the desperation in Harry's eyes, or maybe he can feel how Harry's body reacted just to Zayn's presence, or maybe it's because he knows Harry as well as Harry knows himself, but Louis takes a moment to search his face before turning back to Zayn with, "Well, now that you're here."

Zayn crosses his arms. "Oh?"

"You can help me out. Don't think I can handle Harry by myself, y'know?"

Harry closes his eyes briefly, breathes through his nose to calm himself. His heart hammers in his chest, and he can feel the pulse in Louis's thumb where it rests against the palm of his hand.

"Don't really know what to do with him. Well, I know all the things I wanna do, but there are just _so_ many. Where do I start, Zayn?"

Harry opens his eyes in time for Zayn to catch them. "Touch him, Lou." He and Louis trade grins before Louis drags his hands down Harry's sides, leans down to nose at his temple. Shivers break out across Harry's skin in ripples, a pattern ingrained into his flesh that erupts at Louis's touch.

Louis touches him everywhere, runs his hands up underneath Harry’s shirt, thumbs across his ribs and nipples and collarbones like he can’t help himself. Buries his nose in Harry’s hairline and just breathes. All the while Harry keeps his arms outstretched above his head, the back of his hands against the carpet, waiting for commands. Louis finds his mouth again and Harry sighs into the kiss, arches his body to get the friction back between them.

“Mm,” Louis murmurs, licks his lips when he pulls back with an expression so content it makes Harry’s heart clench. “What now?” He’s asking Zayn but still keeps his eyes on Harry, trails them over Harry’s body, from his mussed up hair to his exposed chest and the fragile bird-bones keeping his heart from beating out of it. Louis’s heavy where he sits in Harry’s lap, but Harry feels light, feels like he could float away if it wasn’t for Louis holding him down. “God, you’re a mess,” he adds, pride in his voice, eyes narrowed and burning.

They listen to the sound of Zayn’s footsteps across the room, the springs in the mattress creak as he sits on the bed. Louis tears his eyes away to look at him.

“Oh?”

Zayn clears his throat. The mattress blocks Harry’s view of him, and he feels less. Deprived, somehow, pulse picking back up when Zayn says, “Come up here,” and Louis smiles.

Louis stands, pulling Harry with him by the hand, leading him over to the bed where Zayn waits for them with hunger in his eyes, and when he reaches out Harry can see his claws. When he smiles his teeth are glistening. They position him on the bed, muttering softly as Harry leans back against Zayn, between his legs, hands stroking his back and across his scalp and his arms as Louis straddles him again, their legs intertwined and the combination of their breathing, their cologne, the heat of their skin overwhelming.

The first touches of Harry’s face are soft, almost reverential, and Louis maintains eye contact as he settles into Harry’s lap, pushes down.

"Oh," Harry says, and Louis digs his fingers in, grinds down and Harry meets his thrusts.

"Slow, Harry, I wanna--"

"Yeah, ok."

"Like--" a hand braced between their bodies, beneath the waistband of Harry's trousers "--keep your arms there, don't move--" another on Harry's jaw to direct him "--god, Harry, fuck, wanted you so long, I need--"

"--Please, Lou, anything. Tell me, please, anything--" gasped into the creases of their bodies, into the folds of Louis's skin and layers of their clothing. Behind them, Zayn mewls his pleasure into the crook of Harry’s shoulder. Louis growls above him, raking his claws up across the soft skin of his belly. Harry hears his bones crack before he feels it, the splinter of cells as they realign and feathers burst from his back. Louis plunges his tongue into Harry's beak with enough force to leave him dizzy, and when Louis gets a hand around him, Harry is definitely falling, flying right off the edge of the world.


End file.
